


Baker Street Boys

by AlaskiceB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Friendship, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, Quarantine, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, bbcsherlock - Freeform, lockdownsherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaskiceB/pseuds/AlaskiceB
Summary: 2020.Because of coronavirus, the UK is on lockdown and our favourite baker street boys are facing difficulties adapting to the current situation, as Rosie doesn't want to sleep and Sherlock is constantly bored.Mrs Hudson, nonetheless, believes that it is time for the two flatmates and best friends to solve another kind of case: their own.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 23





	Baker Street Boys

I think John is with Rosie right now, she should definitely be sleeping by now, but I can hear her crying extremely distinctly upstairs. He should allow me to play her some violin, I’m convinced it would help her fall asleep, it always does, I do it when he isn’t here. The thing is I can’t do it anymore because he is always here, and I can’t even go out and I am bored. I just really wish I could go on a case, no matter how interesting it is, I don’t care, I just want to do something that is not sleeping or petting our dog or fighting with John about the mess Rosie and I make in the flat. He seems to think it’s more my fault than hers. I like the dog. I’m petting it right now, our dog. Well it’s not exactly our dog, it’s more Rosie’s dog, but I’ve always wanted one, so I borrow it from her once in a while. I believe she doesn’t really mind. She’s three, anyway, just a child. I don’t know what I was thinking when I came back from this animal refuge with a puppy on Christmas day. Well, I think it was because, like I just said, I’ve always wanted a dog. John wasn’t really pleased at first, he got a bit mad at me, Mrs Hudson said we were having a little domestic again. I don’t like when she says that, it makes John uncomfortable and I don’t like when he feels uncomfortable; even though I personally don’t really mind, I mean, she’s not completely wrong, is she? Rosie named it Hat. I mean, she’s adorable I love her and everything, but Hat?! Did she genuinely have to? It made John laugh a lot and he finally got all sweet and gentle again. Rosie loves the hat (my hat, not the dog, obviously), children always do, that’s what Mary used to say, so I try to wear it for her, as much as I can actually bear to, but again, we haven’t been able to go on a case in AGES. Well, just a week according to today’s date, but I think my phone is broken. It can’t have only been a week, that’s just not possible. I might actually die, or smoke again, and then die. John would write about my death on his blog. Well, would he? He didn’t last time (turns out I happened to be well alive, but he didn’t know that, sorry again John). I think he would actually kill me if I died. What do you mean it doesn’t make any sense? Yeah, I know, please stop talking to me I’m trying to think and you’re boring. What do you mean you’re just me talking to myself because John isn’t here (he still is with Rosie upstairs, who’s still crying, he should definitely allow me to play her the violin) and I am bored? Well, wouldn’t YOU be bored too if you hadn’t left the house in a week? It’s not even a house, it’s a flat, which is technically smaller! This is torturing me, if I don’t die as stated earlier, I might as well just get really mad, even more than I am now (yes, it’s possible). But John probably wouldn’t enjoy spending time with me anymore, let alone living in the same flat as me, so I might just die instead. Not as painful. 

“Sherlock?”

Bloody hell John, how???? He always does this. He’s so quiet that I don’t hear him when he enters the room, nor when he leaves it, which is slightly more of an issue since I end up talking to an empty chair and then he, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade laugh at me. I think Lestrade has an entire file with videos of me talking to an empty chair, that’s what Molly told me anyway. 

“Is Rosie finally asleep?”  
“She is. I swear she’s going to end me before you do, and that’s saying something I can tell you…” He smiled; I like it when he smiles like that.  
“You know, I was bored.”  
“Yes? And? You’ve been saying that non-stop for a week Sherlock, get over it. Find something to do, anything.” 

Here we go again… I hate when he gets mad at me for being bored and saying so, it makes me even sadder than I already am. 

“I actually think it’s been more than a week and you’ve all been lying to me. But if you stopped interrupting me, you’d know by now that there was more to come to what I was just saying!!”  
“Okay… Well, go on then, what were you thinking?” 

How can I stay mad at him if he keeps smiling like that I hate him I hate him I hate him. 

“How do you know I was thinking of something?” 

I know the answer I just want to hear him say it, we do it all the time. 

“The science of deduction.” 

Ah he can’t do that to me. What do you mean I asked for it? Well yes, I suppose I did. Alright, I completely did, I love when he does that kind of thing. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am never ready for it, does it? 

“Well basically I know you are not going to agree but since Rosie is struggling to sleep, which I fully understand considering these unprecedented times, I…”  
“Straight to the point, Sherlock, please.”  
“Maybe I could play her the violin to sleep? She enjoys it, or well, I’m sure she would enjoy it if I did!”  
“I know you’ve been doing that Sherlock, no need to hide it from me. I don’t even see why it had to be a secret in the first place but anyway.”  
“How did you know?”  
“The science of deduction.” We’re both smiling now. This is not okay.  
“Rosie’s three, Sherlock, of course she told me…” He continues, smiling even harder.  
“It’s a yes, then?” 

I already know it’s a yes, I read it in his laugh, but I still quite want to hear it from him. Oh, why does it have to matter so much? Why does he have to matter so much? 

“Of course, it’s a yes, what were you thinking? That I would refuse her the pleasure of hearing your violin’s sound?” 

That smile. 

“You think my violin’s sound is a pleasure to hear?”  
“I always tell you it is, Sherlock, how come you’re still asking me this?”

These eyes. 

“I like to hear you say it.”  
“It’s good for your ego I suppose.” He winks at me.  
“You two should elope and quickly, we’ve all been waiting for too long and it’s starting to get boring.” Says a familiar voice at the doorstep.  
“I was just telling John I was bored myself, Mrs Hudson.”  
“And how many times will I have to tell you that I am not gay, Mrs Hudson!” John answers, a bit too quickly for it to be entirely truthful.  
“That’s what they all say. What do you two want for dinner?”

I know John isn’t gay, I’ve always known. His sister is, he isn’t. But he is very clearly not straight either, he just won’t admit it. I think he’s bi, he’s never stated otherwise and he kind of gives me that bi vibe thing. I don’t care, anyway. Why would I care? There’s absolutely no reason for me to care. None at all.  
I’ve never said anything about this to anyone, it’s not something I care about, my sexuality. Well, I used to say I was married to my work. Now people assume I’m married to my best friend. I’m probably quite gay, which is fine, everything is fine. I’ve always been fine with it. Actually, that’s not completely true. Other kids used to make fun of me. But I couldn’t really make out whether it was because girls weren’t really my area or because I was just different as a whole. People don’t like me. My only friend used to be a skull.  
I don’t know if I was lonely, I wasn’t feeling lonely, but now that I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people who actually like you, I suppose I still was a tiny bit lonely, retrospectively I mean. 

“You know Sherlock, a good way to stop being bored is to make dinner.” John says, accusingly and all of a sudden.  
“I’m too bored to cook.”  
“Of course, you are. And Mrs Hudson is not our housekeeper. Yet, she’s been cooking for us every night for the past week as I am taking care of my kid who can’t be bothered to fall asleep easily!”  
“It’s not my fault if I’m both bored and lazy, John.”  
“You’re exhausting me…”  
“Then go to sleep! What do you want me to do??”  
“Something! Anything! I don’t care about what just do something!!” He’s starting to speak way too loudly now.  
“Some would argue doing nothing is still doing something. And don’t shout, or Rosie is going to wake up.” I whisper.  
“You’re lucky I like you, Sherlock Holmes. Now stop petting Hat and go to the kitchen to help Mrs Hudson, you moron.” 

That smile again. I won. I knew I would. I still have to help Mrs Hudson, though. But that’s still a win: he smiled.  
I hate cooking, I never cook; John used to hate that about me, now I think he got used to it; most of the time he glances at me in a reproachful way but says nothing. It already smells very good in the kitchen, Mrs Hudson is a true legend, I’ve always said so and you won’t change my mind. 

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs Hudson?” I ask her in what I know to be a childish voice.  
“Don’t you dare think I don’t know what you are doing young man!  
“What am I doing, then?”  
“You’re trying to sound cute so that I can’t accept your help. You should know that it doesn’t work with me, Sherlock! I’m your landlady, not your mum. But although I hate to say it, I don’t really need your help. Go get your violin and play something calm for me, won’t you?”  
“Alright.” I nod. 

I enjoy the violin more than anything else, I have to say. It helps me think, it clears my mind, and it happens to be quite useful when you’re in lockdown and bored as hell. How comes this sounds familiar? 

“Is John still in the living room, Sherlock?”  
“No, why?” I ask.  
“You know you like him, right?”  
“Of course, I like him, he’s my friend and blogger and the father of Rosie!”  
“That’s not what I meant.” She answers, quite abruptly.  
“What did you mean, then?”  
“You know perfectly what I mean.”  
“No, really, I don’t.”  
“You’re so annoying Sherlock.”  
“You seem annoyed indeed, do you want me to stop playing the violin? Don’t you like this song?”  
“Don’t try to avoid this conversation. You will need to talk about this one day, both of you, and you know why.”  
“Maybe.”  
“Maybe what?”  
“Maybe we’ll talk. But I don’t want to, and he’s not gay, and who said I liked him in that way? You know I’m married to my work.”  
“We both know it’s not entirely true.”  
“Not entirely true means it’s still partly true and that’s enough.”

She sighs

“The pasta is ready, use the sauce from the other day, it’s in the fridge near the thumbs, I’m going to go downstairs now. And. Talk. To. Him.”

I don’t know whether I like John in that way. Or I guess I do know, I just don’t want to address it. It’s too soon. Or is it? I’m very much lost. I’ve been feeling that thing in my stomach for 10 years. What is it? I enjoy being with him, talking to him, I enjoy his company a lot. He keeps me right. 

“What are you thinking about, Sherlock, you look worried.” He asks.

He always knows when something is not completely right, it’s annoying. 

“Oh, do I? I’m just a bit tired.”  
“But you haven’t been doing a single thing in a week!”  
“That’s why I am tired.” 

We’re comfortably sitting in our chairs, looking at each other. He’s beautiful, I don’t think he knows it, but he really is. 

“You look beautiful.”

What on Earth am I doing? 

“What?!”  
“The weather, it’s beautiful.”  
“I’m not a fool, Sherlock, nor deaf. I heard you. You just said I was beautiful.”  
“Because you very clearly are.” I murmur.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Do I speak German? You look pretty, extremely pretty and I think you don’t know it, so I’m telling you right there, right now, how pretty you look. Isn’t it what friends are supposed to do?” 

I said all that way too fast; I’d be surprised if anyone else other than John understood me when I speak that fast. I do it when I am stressed, but like really stressed, and extremely uncomfortable. 

“Sherlock, we have to talk.”  
“Mrs Hudson thinks so too.”  
“We’ve known each other for what? Ten years?” He goes on.  
“I’m not sure I feel completely comfortable having this conversation.”  
“Which further proves my point.”  
“Which one?”  
“There’s something we need to talk about, and you know exactly what.”  
“Maybe.”  
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Sherlock, since the Eurus thing.”  
“Me too, obviously.”  
“What I mean is that I’ve been thinking about Mary’s tape.”  
“Her tape?”  
“You know perfectly which one.”  
“I do.”

He stopped talking. Why did he stop talking?

“Why did you stop talking?”  
“You turned red.”  
“Probably.” 

I wish he couldn’t see my face right now. 

“What I want to say, Sherlock, is that I’ve always loved you, you’ve always been my best friend, and I don’t want this to change. Also, I’m not gay, you know?”  
“Everyone knows that, John, you did not really make it a secret, did you?”  
“But this doesn’t mean…”  
“It doesn’t mean you’re straight either, I know.”  
“How?”  
“That’s my job, remember?”  
“…”  
“Listen John, I don’t really know how I feel, I just know that I have deep feelings for you. Not only did you become my friend when no one else would, but you also turned me into a great man.”  
“There’s no such thing as magic tricks, Sherlock.”  
“You’re right. What I want to say, is that I trust you, more than anyone else, and that I care about what you think of me, and how you feel, and the things you enjoy or hate and I’m so bad; I’m so bad at understanding my feelings, and others’, and I’m so bad at being a friend, I’m not even sure I’m being a good godfather to your daughter, even though I love her, with all my heart. Yes. You heard that right. I have a whole lot of feelings, John, and I’m struggling to understand every single one of them, I’m just not good with that kind of things and you know it and I am so sorry. But there’s one last thing I know. I feel different with you, it’s not like with Molly or Lestrade or Mrs Hudson, you make me feel something very peculiar. I’m not sure what it is, but I know you feel the same way. And I… I like you John, a lot, way more than I probably should.” 

Oh. My. Days. What did I just say? My heart is beating really fast. I can feel a hand, his hand, on mine now; he’s extremely close to me, I can almost feel his breath. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> So I hope you will have enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's my first time writing something that long in English as I usually write in French so I was a bit nervous to share it but hopefully it will all have turned out well.  
> I might write other short stories like this one later on this year, who knows...


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